


Yo, Let's Chill By the Garbage Chute!

by CookieCatSU



Series: The Bub Chronicles [2]
Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Also Bubby's still Bubby, Basically, Black Mesa still sucks, Bubby and Coomer adopt Tommy, Bubby pretends not to, Cheerful!Coomer, Dr. Coomer and Bubby are still in love, G-man isn't a bad dad, M/M, Overprotective!Bubby, Supernatural!G-Man, Supernatural!Tommy, Tommy's the weirdest boyo out there, everyone loves him, he's just absent, joke's on him, so expect some curse words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: Black Mesa is a weird place. The weird sort of place where random kids get left on the doorstep.
Relationships: Bubby & Tommy Coolatta, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Tommy Coolatta & Dr. Coomer
Series: The Bub Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825966
Comments: 16
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the headcanon, where Bubby and Dr. Coomer basically raised Tommy at Black Mesa, somewhere on tumblr, and loved it so much that I adopted it as my own. So thumbs up to whoever came up with that concept!

Odd things often happened at Black Mesa.

Odd things often _converged_ , at Black Mesa.

It was the sort of place that attracted anomalous, abnormal entities, just by its very nature. Considering they were growing artificial humans in tubes (and that wasn't even the most classified project undertaken by the scientists here) it wasn't surprising that Black Mesa served as an epicenter, for weird.

It draws them in: a beacon, calling in the flies.

Tommy had been one of those flies, Bubby supposed.

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Bubby exclaims, pointing at the little gremlin standing at their feet. It's so tiny. A tiny little beast, with a horrifying, gummy smile, and gigantic eyes set in it's tiny skull, and some weird orange hat set atop mousey brown hair and satellite ears.

"It's a little boy!" Coomer shouts, with that contagious smile, "He's so darn cute"

Oh God. He's picking it up.

Bubby visibly balks, shouting frantically over the obnoxious coos already ushering from his coworker, "Don't touch it! You don't know where that damn thing's been"

"Oh my goodness, look at this adorable smile, Bubby" He lightly taps the child's nose, laughing, as the kid giggles, it's little nose wrinkling, "Can we keep him?"

"What? No!" Bubby pushes Dr. Coomer away for good measure, "It might be infectious"

Dr. Coomer's laughing like an idiot, and Bubby can feel his face get all hot despite himself.

"Infectiously adorable"

* * *

They end up keeping it.

Well, sort of. The situation is more along the lines of them allowing the boy to spend time in the lab whenever he happens to show up, and Coomer telling Bubby that no, he can't run the loitering little menace off.

Bubby's pretty sure the kid's just running loose around the facility, based on where he's found him. Under desks, in the dorms, perched next to nuclear waste, and drinking canned tea mere feet from humongous caution signs tacked over the door to classified projects, and always without adult supervision of any kind.

Black Mesa, of course, is no place for a child. Certainly not for a child with no one looking out for them. Bubby would know. He _grew up_ in this shithole.

No one was looking out for this kid.

He knows as soon as he finds him outside of the cafeteria, wedged into that alcove near the trash chute where no one would find him (no one who wasn't looking for movement out of their periphery, no one without dark vision and superhuman hearing), trying to chow down on banana peels.

It's pitiful, and so absurdly weird it's almost laughable (almost, except the kid's eyes look half gouged, sunken, because his little face is so gaunt).

"Don't you have a mummy and daddy?" He asks, totally unconcerned, of course, because concern is below him. He's just confused, is all.

Most kids had parents. Parents who didn't let them run rampant through nuclear waste and noxious fumes, the same sorts of parents that made sure the little ones weren't running in the street, and were back inside before dark.

The parents Bubby never had, and never would, not that it mattered. He understood the concept: from books and television and the few stories he'd managed to snatch from Dr. Coomer at 2 am in the lab, about his childhood.

The boy sort of shakes his head, half no and half shrug, little fingers playing with the edges of his fraying, felt cap.

"Pop-pop left me here, on the doorstep" There's an awkwardly long stretch of silence, after the statement, and then an unsteady, stuttery proclamation, "But he'll be back. He promised. And Pop-pop always keeps his promises"

He looks down, so unbelievably hopeful, it's sickening.

Bubby nods, not quite satisfied with the answer, but unsure what else to say. Finally, he settles with a simple, "well ain't that shit"

The kid was alone.

He resolves then, that they, he and Dr. Coomer, were going to have to rectify that.

He offers up half of his tuna sandwich to the kid, with a jerky nod when he looks at him weird (like he's never been offered something before).

The kid snatches it up with a grin.

* * *

The kid's name is Tommy. It only takes a couple weeks of intermittent, bursts of interaction to get that. Tommy wasn't much of a talker, often speaking in bits and pieces, only saying as much as he thought needed to be said.

Much of his communication is non verbal.

Bubby, who spent more than half of his life in a tube, and was often unable to be heard (it was a 50/50 shot, honestly) caught on rather quickly.

At the end of it all, that's actually an advantage for Bubby. He doesn't have to wade through all the fluffy, frouffy bs.

"You're mean" Tommy says, abrupt, and honest, no hedging and no attempts at small talk, and Bubby understands.

"Oh really?" Bubby asks. Tommy nods. "Well, you're stupid. Take that"

He sticks his tongue out at him. Tommy laughs.

"Uh huh. You're mean, but you're funny, too" He pauses, considering, as if considering the problems of the world,

"I like you"

* * *

None of the Black Mesa scientists have been able to figure Tommy out.

He's different, plain and simple.

He disappears without a trace, often, and reappears in impossible places, on top of shelves he couldn't possibly reach, inside containers that were most definitely sealed, traversing impossibly long distances in seconds to stand behind you.

Sometimes, he'd say something, and he'd get this look in his eyes, ultra bright and determined, and he just knew it would happen, somehow.

It's always somehow, with Tommy.

He's different, like Bubby. Human, but not quite. Extraordinary, many would say.

Inhuman, because of it.

He can do things no one else can do. He's powerful, more so than Bubby or Dr. Coomer could possibly imagine.

Dr. Anderson barrels down on him, staring at Tommy like some specimen. Like he's something to be poked, prodded and studied. Dissected, and understood. Like some frog you used to teach 3rd graders the basics of anatomy.

"If I could just run some tests" It's not an offer and not a question, because that would imply he thought they had a choice.

Coomer immediately steps forward, with a polite little smile, to talk to his coworker.

Dr. Bubby stares at the man who created him, who raised him (if you could call it that), who imprisoned him, with eyes slit and skin hot, hot, hot with hatred.

"That really isn't necessary, my good sir!"

Bubby pulls Tommy to his chest, hand clamped around his shoulder, and hisses. Steaming smoke rises off him at a lazy crawl.

"But I-"

"We have it handled, Dr. Anderson. He's under our jurisdiction, so if any tests occur, Dr. Bubby and I will be doing them"

"Yeah, so why don't you just fuck off?" Bubby snaps, and the tips of his hair are already blazing.

Tommy was powerful, and every scientist in Black Mesa was itching to understand, to harness, to innovate that power, as scientists were prone to do.

He's powerful, but he's also still just a little boy, and the happening are always just that, happenings, just as easily coincidence as willful action.

Bubby would stick to that story with his dying breath.

* * *

G-Man was a weird guy. Not weird in the good way, but in the: makes your blood boil, I could just strangle you, sort of way.

Bubby isn't sure how the 3 piece suit manages to get into his and Coomer's lab with no key or I.D. or clearance, but he does. At the end of the day, no true explanation is needed. He _makes_ things happen. Just like Tommy.

He's inattentive, like a man with too many things to do and not enough time. He's also detached, even as he speaks to them, otherworldly and not quite all there, and refusing to make eye contact, like a god talking to a couple ants.

"You're son," Bubby growls, "has been here for ages, already. It's been like three years, you dumbass"

"Yes, _we've_ been watching him all this time. He's a delightful young man!"

Surprise flits across the man's otherwise expressionless face. He clears his throat.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long for us to, meet, in person. I would have been here sooner, but I actually lost track of where Tommy had gone"

"We know!"

"It's pretty obvious"

He scuffs his pretty black dress shoes against the floor again, for the third time, leaving scuff marks all over Bubby's pristine lab floor like the jerkwad he is.

"Thank you for taking such good care of him"

He didn't stay. Not long enough to say hi to Tommy, or inquire after him. He turns down any offers to see him, and is promptly on his way.

Bubby hopes never to see him again.

* * *

The hidden, underground gym smells of sweat, determination, and prideful grins. The smallest of crowds has formed around the makeshift ring, fellow scientists hungry for the excitement of fight club gathered round as Dr. Coomer and Bubby go at it.

"This surely will be a match for the ages!" Coomer had exclaimed, before throwing himself into the ring.

Bubby grins, swept up in Dr. Coomer's pure, maniacal energy. "Naturally. Because you're about to be pummeled"

"Oh, I see Dr. Bubby's about to get his first win! How exciting"

Tommy appears, about ten minutes later, in the cement hallway leading to the fight club arena, orange towel slung around his neck, determined smile decorating his slim face.

Bubby pauses, gloved hands falling to his sides, head turning sharply so he can glare at Tommy (he's rewarded with a punch to the side of his head, and a wheezy apology from Dr. Coomer). "What are you doing here?"

The teenaged boy beams at them both, "I want to join fight club with you!"

"Oh hell no, young man"

Coomer calls time out, climbing out of the ring from beneath the makeshift ropes, with Bubby just behind him.

"What Bubby means to say, is that it's dangerous. You need the proper training, or you'll get hurt" His concerned grimace dissolves into something more playful, amused, "Do you think any one of us just woke up one morning, suddenly superb boxers?"

Tommy considers that, lanky arms crossed over his chest, hand at his chin in thought.

"Then- then you can teach me" He cries.

Bubby opens his mouth to shut this down, hand clamped around Dr. Coomer's shoulder, smile victorious because he knows Coomer is going to agree with him, but then the shorter man is jumping into action.

"Sounds like a plan to me!"

The fuck? He can't be serious?

"But-" _It's too dangerous_ , he wants to say, but the more he thinks about it, the stupider it sounds. (It sounds like whining, and he also can't help but wonder when he started to _care_ so much).

"This is a reasonable proposition, yes, Bubby?"

"I guess"

* * *

He's fine. Somehow, Tommy's always fine. Even when he runs into signs and topples over and it looks like he should have broke his neck. He always gets back up like it's nothing, like nothing can hurt him.

It's surprising and fascinating but also heart wrenching, because neither he nor Coomer has ever been able to convince him of the need to be careful.

"I told you not to punch that wall" Bubby sneers, as he careful wraps Tommy's palm with gauze and bandages (those stupid sky blue ones with the puppies, as opposed to the plain white, because Bubby had no desire to argue with the teen about fucking bandages, when he was already in pain).

Tommy's still smiling, other hand tapping at his side, even while Bubby's snapping at him to stop moving.

"Did you see me, Mr. Bubby?" He exclaims, voice trembling with excitement, "I nearly had that science man"

He scoffs. "No, you nearly broke your arm"

Tommy's hand stills at that, "Well, you know I'm always fine, Mr. Bubby. I have healing properties, I think"

Worry flairs in his chest, all the same. The reassurance, unsurprisingly, isn't very reassuring, and brings little comfort.

"That doesn't mean you need to go running around throwing your arm into shit" He pauses, lips pursed, "Don't tempt fate, Tommy. It tends to bite you in the ass"

Tommy nods jerkily. Bubby finishes up tying the bandages, and lets him go. The boy grabs his boxing gloves, vibrant yellow, cheery like everything about the kid, and is off again.

Bubby watches after him, and tries to ignore the pit of dread forming in his stomach.

* * *

"Just a scrape, Bubby dearest" Dr. Coomer reassures him, with his usual exuberance, "No reason to freak out"

Bubby scoffs, glaring at the cut stretching from Tommy's brow down to his chin, "Just a scrape? Nah. Don't start bs-ing me, Harold. That's a freaking gouge"

And if Tommy would just stop trying to play with the lab animals, it wouldn't have happened. Was that so much to ask? Don't pet the sharp clawed rabbit, and don't hug the rabid dogs they're using to test pharmaceuticals. That's _all_ Bubby asked of him.

"It's not even that deep, Mr. Bubby" Tommy pipes up.

Coomer nods.

"See? The boy knows what he's talking about, Bubby!" He says, as he presses the peroxide drenched cloth in his hand to the cut on Tommy's cheek, wincing ever so slightly at Tommy's little hiss.

Bubby pouts, throwing himself into one of the rolling office chairs.

"I call bullshit. You're dying and you don't even know it"

He's about to open his mouth to go on a whole tirade about just how severe it really was, when Coomer leans over between dabs, and places a placating kiss on his forehead, with a laugh.

That gets Bubby to shut up. He's too busy fuming, and trying not to look at all ruffled (or pleased), to say much else.

* * *

"I'm sorry I worried you" Tommy says.

It's years later, actually. It's pitch black dark, too, because they're all huddled on Dr. Coomer's couch, watching some cheap horror movie the other scientist picked. Which he then subsequently fell asleep in front of, mere minutes into the prologue, dooming them to watch some subpar flick he didn't even have the decency to stay awake for.

Bubby would curse him, but he's leant up against him, cuddling into his shoulder, fingers gripping his elbow as he snores away, and the last thing he wants is to wake him, so he decides against it.

"What?" He asks, stuffing his mouth with popcorn, the second best part of the night.

"I uh, know I freaked you out a lot. I was really reckless, and I'm sorry"

"Isn't that what kids do?" Bubby shrugs, the tiniest of smiles on his face, wry, "...Give you gray hairs... which you don't have to worry about, because I was gray _long_ before you came along"

Tommy smiles, shoulders unhunching, like some heavy weight had been lifted from him, "Yeah, I guess so"

Bubby nods, ignoring the theatrical scream that burst from the tv speakers, "How goes it with the old man?"

Tommy leans over the arm of the chair, munching on some popcorn of his own, and some tic tacs too, a satisfied, wistful smiles on his face, "Good"

The answer is casual, and Bubby is happy for it, the normalcy of it, even if he's less than enthused about G-man's… well, everything.

This was good for him. Reconnecting and all that jazz.

"Glad to hear it"

Honestly, at the end of the day, as long as Tommy was happy, Bubby was happy- or at least as happy as he could ever be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bubby is a dad. Who would have guessed?

The older scientist, some wrinkly, washed out fucker, glares at him. Bubby's seen him around once or twice, but so has everyone else working for Black Mesa. He's a legend amongst Black Mesa employees: a wraith, a sour specter of pure misery, that'd been here long before anyone else can remember, and, as the story goes, will remain long after everyone else is gone.

His name was… uh… Dr... Dr. Hanks. Yeah. He primarily manned the Nuclear Waste division, disposal and such, mainly because, Bubby suspected, Black Mesa was expecting him to croak out soon anyway (and from radiation poisoning or old age made little difference). Bubby might have spoken to him once. Regardless, he never gave him any reason to stare at him like that. 

He'd remember if he had. He was sure he'd recall the look of indignation cut across that scaly, saggy face.

"You need something?" Bubby snaps, glaring right back at him.

The old man's gaze shifts away from Bubby, somewhat, but he's still glaring angrily.

"Yes, I do! I need for you to control your damn kid. Since when were children allowed in the facility anyway? What a load of bullcrap"

_ I don't have a kid _ , Bubby thinks to say, but then he follows the old scientist's gaze, and he sees he's staring acidly at Tommy, Tommy of all people… and then, well, talking goes right out the window. He's lunging at the old bastard, and the only thing that stops him from ripping the guy a new one is Coomer, who's clamped his hand tight around the back of his lab coat. And while Coomer was short, he was compact, and he was  _ strong _ .

So Bubby does not rip Dr. Hanks apart.

And the old bastard lives another day.

* * *

The guard gives a doughy little smile, and presses his helmet over Tommy's head. The rim falls over the boy's brow, the helmet oversized enough it seems to engulf him.

Tommy giggles, and pushes the side of the helmet up so he can gaze at the guard with a smile.

Bubby and Dr. Coomer watch on from the sidelines.

"It's cool, isn't it? That's my special guard's hat. It's how they figure out who I am" The young man says, before he pulls out his ID, "that, and this"

"Can I keep it?" Tommy asks excitedly.

"Don't see why not" He shrugs, and stands up, smiling warmly.

Then he turns toward Bubby, runs his hand through short cropped blond hair (buzz cut, actually. It's clear he's ex-military, based on that, and the way he carries himself: ramrod straight, quietly disciplined) and nods sharply. "You've both got a great kid"

Bubby's brow furrows, "What?"

"You're his dad, right? Isn't it like… take your child to work day, or something"

Bubby blanks, for about 5 seconds, slowly processing what'd been said. He blinks mechanically.

Then he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "The fuck? I'm not a fucking dad. I'd know if I were a dad, because I'd be shit at it"

Dr. Coomer nods emphatically, "Yes, Tommy is simply a ward which we have taken under our care, indefinitely"

"What no… he's uh… he's like a, he's like a... nephew or uh... Fuck"

Fuck. He is a dad.

Huh. Who would have thought?


End file.
